


where parallel lines meet

by nequas



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, M/M, Reconciliation, Slow Build, how to spoil your own work through tags a saga by me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 00:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14320332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nequas/pseuds/nequas
Summary: paradox:a : a statement that is seemingly contradictory or opposed to common sense and yet is perhaps trueb : a self-contradictory statement that at first seems truec : an argument that apparently derives self-contradictory conclusions by valid deduction from acceptable premises





	1. paradox

**Author's Note:**

> this was a series i told myself i'd write a thousand times and left to collect dust for months, because that's apparently my modus operandi.

when he first heard of him, jayce could hardly deny that he had been instantly drawn to him if perhaps with childish curiosity to disprove the smalltalk he heard in the academy halls: a zaunite kid, brought to the academy’s bosom by a professor, with a genius that could perhaps be paralleled to his own. the assumption made him at first vexed, compelled to avoid him at all costs, only to give room for a growing need to either prove or disprove it. surely he was a couple of years older, but the exams and the approval of prof. stanwick had given him room in the same classes as him, if only to perhaps add salt to the wounds on his ego. nothing that the giopara’s golden boy still could not easily diffuse by completely ignoring any matters not pertaining to the class itself, including his surrounding fellow students which at the time were not more than white noise on the background.

 

—except for the zaunite, of course, with his perfect answers to questions most beside him before failed to answer. it left him seething and, at the same time, strangely satisfied for reasons he then couldn’t quite grasp.

 

in hindsight, he now knows: such was the feeling of having met one’s match.

 

it was in the progress day celebration of the same semester that he came to learn that the unavoidable was simply what the term stated: impossible to be avoided. both seemed eager to evade socialization in the periphery of the great hall the festivities were conducted, much to the giopara’s distaste, and in between exchanges of long, suspicious glances, he had been the first to falter and greet him. viktor – with a dry k between the i and the t, and he enjoyed how the name rolled off his tongue – was his name and to talk to him had been like finding an oasis among the ignorance of his peers; a haughty statement, but for what his ingenious standards mattered, one that was true.

 

they spent the night in what to the piltovan felt like a timeless bubble, and viktor became both a rival and a subject of foreign fascination to the boy that had never needed looked around to seek what interested him; his brain had always been a surefire way of finding answers and yet, now this stranger with a mess for a hair and razor sharp eyes expanded his horizons through something he had never coveted: affinity. whatever answers jayce lacked, viktor offered through his own brand of ingenuity, and vice-versa. it was a dance that captivated him, no matter whether at times it could frustrate him. it was much like finally facing the other side of your own coin, or finding the reagent to your reactant. it worked in some way jayce had not anticipated, and soon enough he found himself enthralled at the perspective of sharing his thoughts with someone, sharing bits and slivers of what made him who he was (the youngest apprenta of this generation, a genius, the goal others should strive to reach — _why_ was it so easy for this other boy  find the tempo of his stride?), while keeping him as at arm’s length as possible, because something in this set a fright into his very bones.

 

perhaps it was the idea that someone could come to surpass him, his ego flaring at the insult, or perhaps it was something else entirely, something less obvious, something that lurked beneath the surface of his mind with stealth graceful enough to evade his attempts to shedding light on it: the fear of what it truly was being understood, after many years living with only his own self as company.

 

unbefitting to the scientist he’d become known as, the golden boy feared the unknown as any other, and in this particular case, _it terrified him_ , it made his blood flow cold in his veins.

 

what was it to meet one so alike when you were claimed to be unmatched?

 

what strange place is it, where parallels converge?

 

as of today he stands among the ruins of what once was viktor’s warehouse, many years apart from that one meeting on progress day, he assumes that this place, this black hole’s maw is where they come to crash and burn as something inside him writhes. as betrayed as he felt, this seems out of place. it’s a brief but poignant feeling as he tries to rearrange his mind around the deed — _this_ , this outcome that comes in the shape of rubble and hurt is the result of trying to make such unsustainable paradoxes work. not even the best of their generation could make for what reality does not allow. this ache in his chest should learn from that, but it doesn’t. half a decade later after that point, it still lives on, feeding off of whenever jayce sees anything that reminds him of him, from specific hextech subjects to any news from zaun at all. 

 

this ache, his heart's reminder: it is simply endlessly persistent in reminding him of what happens when parallel lines meet.


	2. reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reunion:  
> 1 : an act of reuniting : the state of being reunited  
> 2 : a reuniting of persons after separation

emberflit alley is dark, the typical smog heavy enough it feels tangible. it doesn’t take away from the severity of what is transpiring, however, or camouflage it. jayce himself fights back the urge to swallow the knot in his throat when the herald’s eyes pierce through him, hidden behind the convenience of his mask as he meets him outside of what he’d assume to be his residence. he feels naked in comparison, the artistry of facades falling short of his grasp. why his feet dragged him there, after all that has been said and done between them is a mystery he doesn’t care to solve, not right then. he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stomach the truth beneath it. “ _why have you come,_ ” he still recognizes the voice behind the static, heart sinking. he recognizes him, whether he wants it or not, he always will, the metal that conceals his true face hardly enough of an impediment. the tone used is accusing despite the ice beneath. it strikes him sharp, _sharper_ than expected.

 

he can briefly understand why viktor would want to remake himself into something unfeeling; he doesn’t like how this feels, but if he’s come so far, if he’s come this _close_ —-

 

metal-cold fingers graze against the line of his jaw, hesitant in such fashion he could mistake for tender if so inclined to fool himself. it robs him of breath for half a second, for half a moment, and a fully augmented hand fastens itself around his chin, tilting it upwards to sustain eye contact as jayce finds himself frozen in place, all words he could say falling dead in his throat. his brain races, jumpstarts again and reminds him that he had come for a reckoning, he had come to settle things down, he had come to—- _to what_ , really? to the debris and ruins he himself made out of them, the memory of it still vividly imprinted in the forefront of his mind. there’s nothing left of what they were but the wreckage he left behind, but the coffin he expertly built to their bond with his own hands and hubris, he knows, and yet in foolish fashion so unlike himself, the most earnest part of him stands upon this desert expecting blooming flowers. the weight of their mistakes cut deep and his voice finds shelter in the hollow carving of his chest.

 

the question comes again, this time enunciated half an octave higher.

 

“why have you come, defender?”

 

there are many ways he could reply to this, dishonest or not. if he so wishes to keep on partaking in the long, wrung out dance of miscommunications they’ve been chained down to the past years, he’s allowed to, he’s aware of it, just as much as he’s aware that it has cost him years of his life, their life. it’s strange how his brain works to assume there’s a them, to fit viktor into his personal narrative time and time again, and even so he’s matured enough to know it is presumptuous to assume the other has missed him: he has no reason to. gloved and hesitant fingers reach for the hand on his jaw. the pads of his fingers can’t feel it through the leather, but he knows it’s cold. he’s cold, he reminds himself, _it’s what he’s designed of himself_.

 

at that very moment, a thought comes to him like epiphany:

 

_—-_ _but it’s not what you have designed of you._ that alone enough restores his resolve and he lowers viktor’s hand, unclasps it from himself strangely gentle, sky blue eyes following the motion as he does so. it trails back to the mask, to the eyes, to the man before him almost as if seeing him anew. strange, to find sense in how armored he’s become while he’s about to offer himself bare if only in the form of words, all pretense and pride discarded. he remembers the ruins he’s carved with his own hands, reminds himself that it is his responsibility to fix the chasm he’s set between them. he’s not blind enough not to see he may have run out of time by now, what with the years past, but if it weighs on him so heavily, then it may be worth the shot. he’s been never good at missing out opportunities, at not reaching out for what is offered before him.

 

“ _for you_ _._ ”


	3. mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mending:  
> 1 : improve, correct I suggest you mend your ways.  
> 2 : to put into good shape or working order again  
> 3 : to improve in health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a tad shorter.

quiet nights like these have jayce wondering if he’s been thrown back to eons ago, back when spending nights awake by the blueprints of shared projects passed to them by incompetent teachers was commonplace, but the unnatural glow of viktor’s eyes over his own work table remind him like a punch to the gut that _indeed_ time has passed. neither of them are youthful as they were, he’s aware, what with all they’ve come to represent and endure becoming herald and defender, yet he can easily see that the past five years have put the weight of decades over viktor’s shoulders; he contemplates the creases and pallor of his former friend’s face like one would a wound and once again, _it stings_.

 

he’s come to notice that nothing between them will ever be easy again but it’s _fine_ , he tells himself. he has patience this time around, he will force himself to have it even if it has never been a defining trait of his. it’s by personal experience that he knows that with enough work anything can be fixed even when nearly broken beyond repair. proof of it is that he’s here, sitting in the zaunite’s personal space, a cup of coffee ( _no sugar_ , viktor stated before passing it over, and the acknowledgement that he still remembered made him stall, wordless, before nodding) resting loose in his hand as he hovers his gaze over his face with a curiosity befitting of a child.

 

the conclusion is simple, comes to him as fast and easy as a schemata of hextech would:

 

_he’s missed him._

 

he leans his chest against the back of his chair and lets the warmth of the brass cup wash over his naked hands as he cradles it between calloused palms. he’s aged too, he knows, the white in his hair much too precocious and likely fruit of stress. his years might’ve been _easier_ , but they haven’t been _eas_ y. nothing of it has been easy. he hasn’t chosen the mantle of the defender that he now carries over his back and he knows that the reason why it is his to begin with will always be a stain in his relationship with viktor. he knows the vast abyss that separates their realities and their ideologies, but prolonged distance has been enough to tell the man before him is the only person his heart will ever so adamantly and unapologetically insist on cherishing; _it is stubborn_ , as all in him, and he can’t fault it for it.

 

dragging his chair with the heels of his boots towards his friend’s side carrying with him the wisdom imparted upon him by the years that passed them by, he’s come to acknowledge that certain things can’t be undone or unseen.

 

 _—_ _just fixed_.


End file.
